


Barbed Wire Halo

by theangrymom



Series: Fire Away [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Cowboy AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Panc/Anxiety, Protective!Slade, Rimming, Threats of Sexual Harassment, fleshlight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrymom/pseuds/theangrymom
Summary: Jason Todd is a small-time bull rider going town to town chasing excitement, adrenaline, and the next man that catches his eye.Slade Wilson is a local millionaire and ranch owner who's a sucker for the new-in-town spit fire cowboy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the set up for a pretty long series I have planned out for these two. Also there's no sex in this chapter but there will be in the next lol
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please leave comments and kudos <3 <3 
> 
> Title from: Barbed Wire Halo by Aaron Watson

Leaning against the blue painted railing of the arena, Slade adjusted his sunglasses and took another look around at the growing crowd. This wasn’t the first year Athens had hosted their own small-time rodeo, not even since Slade had gotten involved in the organization of the event, and it had been announced in the papers-- that these small town folks still actually read-- weeks ago.

 

Still, some part of him still thought that less people would take time out of their Sunday afternoons for _this_.

 

Slade put his left foot up on the lowest rung of the railing, the heavy heel of his cowboy boot clanking lightly against the metal, tipped the rim of his hat up with one finger, and settled in to watch.

 

In any case, he didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to judging people for driving five minutes out of their way after church when, despite being one of the main sponsors for the spectacle, he didn’t necessarily have to be here. But here he was: watching boys of all ages get tossed to the dirt by calves and steers and bulls as if it were top tier entertainment.  

 

Honestly, in the past few years watching the bull and bronco riding had grown on him; there was a certain bravery-- and stupidity-- required for the sport. He found that he got along quite well with the riders when he had the opportunity to meet them personally-- as opposed to only knowing the names that annually popped up in his bank statements when prize checks with his name on the bottom were cashed.

 

As always the challenges started with the young ones, and the calf riding had been cute, even Slade could admit that, but something of a waste of time. The only people who’d shown up for that had been family members of the little cowboys and cowgirls who were competing.

 

After that, the teens took the spot light. That drew more of a crowd, if only slightly: More family members, but also school friends and teachers and so on. An hour and a half later and not a single junior or senior rider out of nearly twenty five had scored, though several had been injured, while Slade and a crowd of maybe a hundred and fifty people looked on.

 

Slade prided himself on his patience, but even he was relieved by the time free riding was about to start. Not only did it always draw a crowd, but it was undoubtedly the most exciting event. Already, the size of the crowd had doubled.

 

The Texas sun was punishingly bright and hot, especially in May, but that didn’t deter people from sacrificing their air conditioning to wade through dust and horse shit and observe grown men attempt to cling to a bucking bull for a whole eight seconds. Slade knew the entrance fee was exorbitant, but he also knew-- both from business and personal experience-- that people would pay just about anything for a good time in a place as slow rolling as this.

 

Though he hadn’t really been concerned, some part of Slade relaxed as he did the calculations in his head; he would earn back what he’d donated to the event, plus some.

 

With that thought in mind, he let himself relax fully, leaning his weight onto his elbows where they rested on the railing. He’d picked a place directly across from the three starting gates, to get the best view, and no one had tried to squeeze him away from the prime spot yet. Whether that was due to ample space to spread out or that these people were so easily intimidated by his size Slade didn’t much care, though he would bet on the latter.

 

The music that had been blasting through the crackling speakers, disguising the loud muttering of the audience, petered off and Slade lifted his head, eyes scanning the ring, waiting. Allen, the event announcer, called the official start of the challenge and the crowd swelled with excitement, rowdy shouts going up around him.  

 

Slade kept his attention fixed on the shadowy form of a bull already locked into the first starting gate, and let a little bubble of his own excitement well up as the first rider climbed the railing and situated himself. The rider, Kraner Something (his last name was eaten up by raucous cheering), wore a black, padded protection vest obnoxiously covered shoulder straps to hem in stickers. After successfully finding his seat, he wriggled and visibly tested his grip against the coarse rope that was his only hand-hold on the bull before nodding to the two gate workers and lifting his hand from where he’d been gripping the top of the gate for balance. The gate swung open, and the pitch black bull stomped out, kicked once, and then slammed itself back against the thin metal of the gate in an attempt to dislodge Kraner; the gate works jumped up onto the railing to avoid being squished and Kraner toppled off the bull’s back. Rodeo clowns closed in from where they’d been hovering, drawing the bull’s attention while Kraner beat a hasty retreat. The ride had barely lasted three seconds, but Slade thought that Kraner should be grateful he hadn’t broken his leg. Hopefully the next ride would last a little longer.

 

The next ride did not, in fact, last longer. A string of riders came and went, but again, not one of them scored. Most of them hardly lasted half the required time to earn points.

 

Slade didn’t let himself feel too disappointed; the Athens rodeo wasn’t on a big circuit, and it wasn’t a qualifier for a bigger rodeo-- there was no reason for any cowboy worth his boots to be out here aside from gaining experience. Slade wished their experience would be a bit more entertaining, but most of these boys were barely eighteen and were just chasing the dream of becoming a professional bull rider. More than likely, they would give up after a year or two and stop breaking their mother’s hearts and go home before they got themselves seriously hurt.

 

By the time there was only one rider left, no one had managed to score, though two had come close. Slade resigned himself to taking back the two thousand dollars of prize money he’d put up when the last rider climbed the railing and situated himself on the back of mean looking red-brown bull with long, dulled horns. Even from across the entire width of the ring, Slade could see the gleam of the rider’s green eyes and the determined set of his mouth through the grill of his riding helmet.

 

Immediately, Slade perked up; he could practically taste the promise of a good ride on the air as the boy clenched his fist in the rope wrapped just under the bulk of the bull’s shoulders. As the rider-- Jason Todd, Allen had said-- turned to look at the men working the gate, Slade could have sworn their eyes met for just a moment. But then Todd gave a nod and the gate swung open.

 

It was obvious from the beginning that Todd outclassed the other riders. Whether it was from experience or natural skill, it was hard to tell. Slade had been right about the bull, too: It was a mean motherfucker, two-thousand pounds of muscle furiously trying to unseat Todd. Right out of the gate, the beast nearly went ass-over-horns into the dirt with how hard it kicked up.Todd held fast, expertly countering the sudden change of the bull’s weight, thighs clenched tight and leaning nearly to the point of touching his helmet to the bull’s back.

 

Before long, the eight second horn rang and the clowns ran in from the corners of the ring to catch the bull’s eye long enough for Todd to make a safe dismount and get away.

 

Todd masterfully disentangled himself from the rope and leaped off, rolling once before gracefully coming to his feet. Instead of making a run for the railing of the arena, however, he turned and, like a complete _dumbass_ , faced the bull. The crowd was cheering and applauding wildly for the first and only successful ride of the day, but Slade could still hear the frantic shouts of the clowns urging Jason to run.

 

Slade’s mouth kicked up on one side in an involuntary smile.

 

With an arrogant roll of his broad shoulders, Todd walked right into the bull’s line of sight and made his way leisurely to the railing; luckily, the clowns were good at theirs jobs and the bull was enraged enough to be easily distracted. Dust flew up as the bull kicked again, but was eventually coaxed out of the ring and into the coral.  

 

Eyebrows lifted, Slade searched the crowd near the railing where Todd had climbed over. The kid had just removed his helmet and was looking after the bull almost as if he were… disappointed. Slade blinked and the look was gone.

 

For a moment, Slade let himself admire the way Todd’s black hair fell in a tousled sweep across his forehead-- it was the perfect length to get a good grip on, Slade couldn’t help but notice-- and how the smooth, tanned planes of Todd’s ruggedly handsome face seemed to glow with health and youth. Then the kid turned around and started making his way to the moderately sized contestant’s tent, fringe from his chaps swaying with each step.

 

There was something about the way the kid moved-- Slade wondered if maybe he and Todd didn’t have a common interest, aside from bull riding. Slade had been around the block a few times and he was not often wrong about people’s… inclinations; he’d had plenty of chances to perfect that skill.

 

It wasn’t often someone so interesting wandered into Slade’s sight.

 

Pulling his sunglasses off and folding them into the collar of his shirt, Slade watched Todd’s retreating back. The kid would have to stick around until the rest of the events of the rodeo were over to get his prize.

 

That left plenty of time for Slade to find Todd and corner him somewhere quiet and find out just how _interesting_ he really was.

 

*   

“Hey Jason, congrats!” A heavy hand clapped down on Jason’s shoulder, shaking him a little in emphasis.

 

Playfully shaking the hand off, Jason smirked down at Ethan.

 

“Thanks, man,” he said, earnestly. “You’ll get the next one, huh? Just gotta hang on.” Ethan chuckled good naturedly and punched him in the arm as Jason made his way to his bags, unbuckling his padded vest as he went.

 

“You make that sound like it’s easy, Todd,” Ethan joked, twisting his mouth to the side in an impish smile.   

 

Jason shrugged and laughed again, though Ethan probably didn’t see since he’d already moved on to pestering another rider. Kneeling down, careful of his now-bruised knees, Jason started tucking his riding gear away in his worn-thin duffel bag. Sweat was still dripping unhindered down his hairline as Jason unfastened his chaps, carefully folded them, and slipped them into his bag. Leaning back on his heels, Jason looked around at the crowded tent and the few riders still lingering inside beside there stuff. Of course, Ethan was the center of attention, talking animatedly with his hands, curly hair bouncing, brown eyes shining, smile flashing every few seconds and drawing grins from the boys around him.

 

Jason chuckled on an exhale, and finally felt himself catch his breath. Grabbing a rag out of the side of his bag, he started mopping up his sweat rubbing the dirt off his forehead and neck.

 

He liked Ethan; they’d been together for the past three weeks, traveling on the same rodeo circuit around northeastern Texas. The kid was funny, if not a little naive and ignorant of the world. Ethan was, like most of the other riders at this little rodeo, trying to work his way up to the pros. Jason thought that, in a few years and barring any serious injuries, he could probably do it. Baby faced and only eighteen, Ethan already gave Jason a run for his money.

 

That didn’t bother Jason like it probably should have, or like it might have in the past, but Jason had no interest in going pro. Jason was… just along for the ride, no pun intended. There was a certain charm in traveling hundreds of miles every week, occasionally winning a challenge here and there, constantly being bruised and dirty. It was kind of surreal for him, dreamlike sometimes; Jason was well suited to the drifter lifestyle.

 

He loved it-- so long as he had enough money for a hotel room and a burger from the nearest diner, Jason didn’t care how much money was in his bank account. Which was for the best, because he’d hardly had enough to buy gas on the way into town that morning; winning this challenge would get him through the next couple of weeks, or until he won another challenge.

 

Once all of his shit was packed neatly into his bag, Jason grabbed his hat from where it he’d left it sitting on top of his backpack, and stood. He didn’t miss the dirty looks and glares being thrown his way by a few of the other riders as he walked out of the tent, but he was used to that. Jason wasn’t _arrogant_ , like some of his competitors seemed to think. He was just a little _reckless_ , was all-- he liked the thrill of staring a bull in the eye and knowing it could easily overpower and kill him, given the opportunity, craved the high it always gave him.

 

Jason flashed his most obnoxious smirk in the direction of the guy, Brookes, still glaring at him, tipping his hat a little in salute, and walked away with maybe a little extra sway to his hips than was strictly natural or necessary. Maybe taunting someone he’d just whipped in the arena was in poor taste, but being butthurt about losing was ugly and annoying, and Jason took pleasure in the small things; like watching Brookes’ face turn an ugly color of purple, for example. He only spared a glance for the arena-- enough to see that the event going on didn’t interest him-- before going around the competitor’s tent and making his way to the edge of the packed-dirt parking lot.

 

He pulled a crushed and mostly empty carton of cigarettes from his pocket as he walked and lit up, eyes scanning the lot till he found his truck. Under a thick layer of dust and mud from headlights to bumper, the red paint of the huge Ram was hardly recognizable. Jason patted the metal monster on the hood as he passed anyways, because no matter how filthy it was, it was Jason’s. In a few months the license plates would need to be renewed, and Jason would lose the last little bit of Gotham he had left. The thought left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.   

 

After tugging the heavy tailgate down, Jason hauled himself up to sit in the sun-warmed bed of the truck. He made himself comfortable, removing his hat even though the sun was blinding, and slumped over to lean his right shoulder against the edge of the bed. Staring at the toes of his boots, and puffing a few times on his cigarette, Jason felt the last of his competition induced tension melt away.

 

All that adrenaline was great for making him feel alive, but couple the lightheaded feeling of nearly being trampled by a bull with the sounds of a three hundred person crowd, and the result could be a truly monstrous headache.

 

Jason slowly breathed in the pungent smell of cigarette smoke.

 

He let himself run through the ride a few times in his head, thinking of all the ways he could have done better, and all the ways it could have gone wrong. Inevitably, he thought of what Dick would have said if he’d been here to see Jason win.

 

Scrunching his eyes closed, Jason ran a hand roughly through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He knew exactly what Dick would say: Something furious and concerned, a condemnation of Jason’s recklessness. Stereotypical Big Brother. Then, because _of course_ , Jason thought of Bruce. His eyes flashed open, trying to expel the mental image of Bruce staring at him with concern from his mind.

 

If he was just going to think of his family, he might as well go back and hang out with Ethan because either way he’d end up with a migraine.

 

Exhaling heavily out of his nose, Jason stubbed his cigarette out with numb fingers, tossing the butt to the ground. He watched the last few embers glow and slowly die out.

 

He just needed a few more minutes alone, then he’d go back and find Ethan and try to make nice with the other riders. Or whatever. There was still a few hours before the final event, and Jason had to stick around to collect his winnings; might as well try and have a good time, instead of sulking in the parking lot by himself.  

 

Just a few more minutes. That’s all he needed. Then he wouldn’t think of Dick or Bruce again for a few more days. Jason smiled, and he was sure it was an ugly, sad thing to see, if anyone was around to witness it; ‘a few more days’ had been an innocent enough thing to think, until it had morphed into weeks and then months, which had eventually become nearly two years.

 

Then, as if he were standing right in front of him, Jason heard Dick say, “But you promised you’d call,” in that hoarse voice that always meant he was about to cry.

 

Jason jerked his head up, eyes wide, breathing ragged, but Dick wasn’t standing there. Of course he wasn’t. Dick was a thousand miles away.

 

But some stranger, a man, was walking towards him from not too far off, regarding Jason with an indecipherable look on his face.

 

Drawing in as deep a breath as he could, Jason scrubbed his hands over his face. Not a big deal; Jason would just claim he’d started falling asleep, or something. He didn’t have to tell this stranger he’d just nearly had a panic attack. He would just play it cool, like always.

 

Jason licked his lips and carefully made his mind go blank, the way he did at night when the memories were too close to the surface, the way he did when he knew he was going to have nightmares, and fixed his face into a neutral expression.

 

He wasn’t surprised when the guy said, in a pleasantly deep, rumbling voice, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

Jason bristled at the stranger’s tone despite his perfectly polite words; it took more than _that_ to ‘startle’ him. Annoyance helped to take the edge off whatever unpleasant emotion had been kicked up when Jason had thought he’d heard Dick’s voice.

 

“You didn’t,” Jason said, with as cocky a grin as he could manage in the moment. “Don’t worry.” The glare of the sun made it hard to see the guy’s face, but Jason heard a scoff and was almost sure the stranger was mocking him. Another spike of annoyance shot through Jason.

 

Then, as the stranger stopped a few inches short of touching his shins to the dangling tips of Jason’s boots, Jason forgot any and all annoyance as he looked up-- and up and up and _up_ \-- into the stranger’s face. Older than Jason would have guessed, probably mid-forties, but his trimmed beard and close cropped hair was all starkly, strangely white against his evenly tanned face and made him look a little older.

 

It wasn’t a bad look.

 

He made an effort not to stare, but then got caught in the guy’s strikingly ice blue eyes. A strange jolt of familiarity made Jason’s shoulders twitch, just slightly; the stranger wasn’t regarding him in any particular way, was just watching him, but the feeling Jason got when he made eye contact with the guy was scarily similar to the feeling he got when he locked eyes with a raging bull after a hard ride. Locking his muscles saved Jason from outright shivering, but just barely.

 

And the guy was so _tall_ , definitely taller than Jason by several inches which was impressive all on its own, but this guy was also just massive in general, with rounded shoulders and corded forearms exposed to the sun under the rolled up sleeves of his black button down cotton shirt. Jason knew he was staring, blatantly checking this forty-something-year-old cowboy out in broad daylight like he had a death wish, but he couldn’t stop _looking_.

 

The stranger chuckled and offered him one huge, scarred hand, palm up. “You’re Jason Todd,” he said. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact. Still, Jason nodded, and placed his hand in the stranger’s. A little bell rang in Jason’s head, though not of alarm; he was just picking up some serious _I’d Fuck You_ vibes. “I’m Slade Wilson. My signature will be on your paycheck this evening.”

 

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, accidentally clenching down on Mr. Wilson’s hand in his surprise. As subtly as possible, he pulled his hand back and curled it into a fist on top of his thigh. “Oh,” he said, trying to think of anything to say. Nothing came to mind but well ingrained manners. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson,” Jason said with a small smile.

 

Mr. Wilson wrinkled his nose at that and said, “Call me Slade, Jason. I’m not that old.” Jason’s eyes flicked suspiciously to the tell-tale white of Slade’s hair. Slade laughed-- a real laugh, something deep that resonated in Jason’s chest-- and ran his hand over the short spikes of his hair. It looked silky and soft.  

 

Now that Jason had recovered from the initial surprise of Slade’s sheer and impressive size, he could acknowledge that it wasn’t the most eye catching thing about him.

 

The way Slade held himself was almost military-- straight backed, shoulders squared. Coupled with his looming physique and that almost animal intensity that seemed to come naturally, the posture was-- Jason had to admit-- somewhat intimidating. As was the ardent look in Slade’s eyes, which was not hampered by the light hearted way Slade spoke. A slow shiver worked its way down Jason's spine, one he was helpless to stop.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, Slade, I’m more than pleased to make your acquaintance,” Jason said, letting his voice drop in pitch and his eyelids to lower a fraction, just to see what reaction he’d get; if he was reading the mood wrong here, it could end badly to say the least. But Slade’s eyes sharpened further as he leaned a little closer, and that small change in proximity seemed to make a world of difference. The air between them was suddenly charged with what they had so far left unspoken, and the skin of Jason’s arms tingled as his hair stood on end. Jason exhaled softly, reigning his control back in. He’d been right. “But to what do I owe the honor?”

 

“I’ll be honest,” Slade said, “after watching you face off against that bull, I decided I wanted to meet you before I lost the chance. It’s not every day someone so intriguing shows up around here.” Slade’s eyes pointedly dropped from Jason’s face, down to his waist, his knees, and back up again.

 

Jason blinked once, slowly.

 

Wow. Slade was… not subtle. Jason was no stranger, as a gay man in the deep south, to flirting with men without explicitly saying or doing anything. There was an unsurprisingly large number of closeted cowboys looking to get dicked down by someone like Jason-- but all of Jason’s seduction was covert, done across dark and smokey bars through lingering looks or in light touches under tables. He’d never had a man flirt with so openly. It made Jason feel as if the world had tilted a few degrees around him.

 

More importantly, Slade probably had standing in the community, and was wealthy to boot if he had enough money to donate large prize checks. Thinking about how much Slade had so much to lose made Jason’s breathe come a little faster. What was Slade doing flirting with Jason in the parking lot?

 

All of Jason’s thoughts must have translated clearly onto his face because Slade’s expression softened as he leaned further forward to rest a forearm right next to where Jason’s shoulder was still propped against the wall of the bed of his truck. Slade was still plenty taller than Jason, but, again, it brought them closer together. Jason’s heart jumped in his chest and he anxiously looked around them, nightmare situations of getting caught spiraling through his head as he scanned the disorderly rows of cars for people.

 

“Don’t worry, kid,” Slade said, gazing into Jason’s eyes like it wasn’t a big deal that they were very nearly within kissing distance of each other. “I won’t do anything you don’t tell me to,” he paused and a wicked gleam shone in his eye. “In public.”

 

Jason’s mouth went immediately, completely, dry. It had been awhile since Jason had met someone with the inclination, and the ability, to actually _fuck_ him the way he liked.

 

“I’m more worried about you,” Jason said, and it came out a lot quieter, and a lot more intimate, than he had intended. “I leave town tomorrow, but you live here. If someone caught us…” Jason let the end of his sentence hang in the air between them and waited for Slade to pull away.

 

Instead, Slade just sighed and leaned in even closer. This far from the small rodeo, the near silence was broken only by Slade’s steady, puffing exhalations and Jason’s slightly more frantic breathing. The sound was somewhat hypnotizing, Jason found, as his eyes were drawn to Slade’s lips as if magnetized.

 

“If someone caught us,” Slade said, matching Jason’s quiet tone, “I wouldn’t give a damn. They’d talk, sure,” and Slade shrugged like he truly couldn’t care less, “but they can’t do anything to me, kid. So don’t worry.”

 

He blinked, and their lips were a scant inch apart and Jason was suddenly inclined to do as he was told for once in his life and stop worrying. Slade was right here, and so confident that nothing bad would happen…

 

Just as Jason was letting himself relax and lean in to close the space between their lips, laughter rang out a few yards away. Jason jerked back like he’d been electrocuted, straightening his spine and desperately trying to will his blush away. That was all habit, of course, a reflex built from making out in shadowed corners and having his partners yank away from him at the smallest noises.

 

Slade stayed perfectly silent and still, bent neatly at the waist and leaning over Jason, focus trained intently on him.

 

Jason tracked the noise of the family that had unknowingly interrupted them until it was quiet again. A few seconds of silence ticked by until Jason finally sheepishly looked back up at Slade. Slade’s thick white brows were lifted in attention, the corners of his mouth quirked slightly. Before Jason could think of anything to say, Slade was straightening up and pulling away.

 

“There’s a bar three miles down the highway,” Slade said, jerking his chin in the direction he meant. “Why don’t you convince a few of the other riders to join you there tonight?” The real offer was in Slade’s eyes, and heat sparked deep in Jason’s gut.

 

He pretended to think it over, and then nodded. “Sounds like a good time.”

 

Slade reached out and ruffled Jason’s hair like he was a toddler. Jason squawked indignantly, shoving that huge hand away from his head and running his fingers through his hair to try and smooth it back down into a semblance of control.

 

“Yes, it does,” Slade said, and Jason was sure he didn’t imagine how Slade’s voice dropped into a promising rumble when he said that. Winking, Slade turned away-- and just like that, as fast as he’d shown up, he was gone.

 

For a few seconds, Jason just sat there with a hand pressed over his eyes.

 

That had been… weird. Getting propositioned by a forty year old cowboy wasn’t something Jason had practice handling, and the whole encounter had been surreal as fuck. The chemistry between them was something Jason had only experienced a few times and anticipation was already making him restless.

 

Hopping down from the tailgate of his truck, Jason grabbed his hat and started weaving his way back through the parking lot to find Ethan and a few more boys to justify a trip to the local bar.

 

*    *    *    *    *    *

Three hours later, Jason found himself in a small, poorly lit bar, two thousand dollars richer.

 

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Ethan to round up ten or so riders to join them at the bar; being underage had never stopped Ethan from tagging along with Jason. Never one to miss out on a potentially good time, or an opportunity to force Jason to be more social, it wasn’t much of a surprise that Ethan had jumped at the chance to throw together an impromptu gathering. Jason had hardly done anything but suggest it.

 

They pushed a couple of heavy wooden tables together, garnering a nasty look from the bartender. After they’d ordered a round of drinks, and Jason had slipped the bartender ten bucks to hopefully keep the guy from spitting in their beers, easy back-and-forth bickering and conversation started up.

 

A couple of the younger boys pushed and shoved at each other in mock fight over the best (least sticky) seats; Jason casually chose a chair at the head of the table facing the doors so he could see when Slade came in, as well as keep an eye on the rest of the room. Though he let himself get swept up in talk about football and other riders they all knew, Jason didn’t forget the real reason he was there. The bar was practically empty aside from their boisterous group, but he couldn’t keep from glancing around the room every few minutes, just in case Slade sneaked in while he was distracted.

 

First round came and went. Still, Slade wasn’t there.

 

Jason told himself that Slade had probably gotten held up at the fairgrounds for clean up or something; Jason told himself not to feel so disappointed over a stranger not hustling to please him.

 

After nearly an hour, in which Jason to devote a considerable amount of energy to keep himself from fantasizing, Ethan called from down the table, “Jason! You should play us something on your guitar.”

 

Jason half-feigned a look of annoyance. “Nobody wants to hear me sing, Ethan,” he said. That wasn’t true, as it turned out. He put up a few minutes of humble resistance, but finally relented, making to stand and fetch his guitar from his truck.

 

He’d barely gotten his feet under him when Slade came striding through the door. His ice blue eyes met Jason’s and then danced away, focusing on the bartender without any further acknowledgment.

 

Fighting the urge to frown-- to _pout_ \-- Jason re-settled himself in his chair and tossed his keys to Ethan. “You want me to play so bad, go grab my guitar.” Ethan rolled his eyes but immediately sprang up to his feet.

 

“Y’all up for another round?” Jason asked. “On me.” A chorus of thanks went up from the table, and Jason took the opportunity to hustle up to the bar.

 

Slade was already sipping a dark, strong smelling whisky when Jason sidled up next to him. He left an obvious foot of space between their shoulders. The bartender made a questioning noise without looking up from the glass he was drying, and Jason relayed his order before peaking at Slade out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Why don’t you come sit with us,” Jason offered, keeping his voice soft so it didn’t carry to the men sitting a few feet behind them. If Slade didn’t want to interact with him in public, Jason wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.

 

Finally, Slade turned his head enough to make stable eye contact with Jason. It felt something like having the full attention of a large predator-- or a rampaging bull. His face was a neutral mask, though he didn’t look angry or upset, just carefully interested.

 

“Wasn’t sure I was invited,” Slade said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

 

Jason watched him for a moment, then scoffed, no longer bothering to keep quiet. Slade was worried that Jason would lose his shit because Slade was sitting next to him public. That was sweet, if a tad laughable. This was Jason in his element. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to be _very_ gay without anyone in the near vicinity noticing.

 

“You’re invited, old man,” Jason said, the nickname slipping out of his mouth almost by reflex.  Slade didn’t seem to mind, but Jason’s heart seized at an avalanche of memories for the split second it took for him to refocus. Really, the last thing he needed was to think about Bruce while he was trying to get laid. “Come on.”

 

With Slade’s help, Jason got all the long-necked beer bottles back to the table where the group of young men was looking on curiously. Jason dragged a chair up close to his at the head of the table and gestured for Slade to take it before sitting down himself.

 

“This is Slade Wilson, the generous man who signed my check this evening, boys. Thought the least I could do was invite him to have a drink with us,” Jason said to the group. At the mention of money, the attention shifted from Jason to Slade.

 

While Slade fielded questions, Ethan handed Jason’s guitar and keys off with a smile and mock salute. Jason popped his case open and pulled his guitar out. He balanced the smooth instrument in his lap, dug around for a pick, and dropped the case back to the ground. He strummed thoughtlessly, checking that everything was still in-tune, before letting himself refocus on the conversation.

 

“-only takes a day or so to really set up,” Slade was saying, one ankle balance on the opposite knee, crystal whiskey glass barely visible from where it was held in his large hand. “Mostly, I’m just the guy paying for everything.” Jason chuckled along with the rest of the guys, casually dropping his hand below the edge of the table, in between his and Slade’s chairs.

 

A little thrum of adrenaline ran through him. This was familiar territory; Jason was a master at this. With carefully slow movements, he let his fingers skim with just enough pressure over the side of Slade’s thigh to register as a touch and then pulled his hand away. Jason felt Slade’s attention jump to him and pretended to be engrossed in whatever Tate was talking about, nibbling on his lip and keeping his face intentionally slack and loose-- _open_. It was a look that had worked for Jason for years; when Slade’s whole hand rested high on his thigh, Jason barely managed to hide a satisfied smile.

 

He was distracted from planning his next move when Ethan said, “Come on, Jason. Play us something!”

 

Jason pursed his lips, but moved one hand to the neck of his guitar and the other to the strings, pick clenched loosely between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“What do you wanna hear, Ethan?”

 

The next hour or so passed pleasantly. He didn’t get to play as often as he wanted to because of all the traveling, and he missed it. Most of the songs requested he knew by heart; a few he had to listen to for a few seconds on someone’s phone before playing it by ear, but he was playing for a willing audience so he was happy. Plus, Slade kept his hand steady on Jason, occasionally tapping a finger along with the beat of a song, while he sipped his whiskey and occasionally contributed to the conversation with a snarky comment here and there.

 

Jason couldn’t quite recall a time from the past few years when he’d been more relaxed.

 

He was winding down from another song, playing the final notes, when Slade said, “I’m assuming you know Chris Stapleton.” Jason nodded, head tipped curiously. “I’d like to hear you sing something of his.”

 

The kindling sparks of attraction that had been burning low and controlled in the pit of Jason’s stomach up until then suddenly flared to life, hot and bright. Jason shifted in his seat as subtly as possible and nodded again, unsure if his voice would give away how aroused he was.

 

God, if Slade could get him this riled up over requesting a song, Jason was in for one hell of a night.

 

So Jason sang, and Slade’s eyes never left his face and his hand never moved from its place on his thigh. The fire in Jason’s blood roared hotter.

 

He finished the song, and a few people clapped, more patrons having shown up while they sat and drank, and some of them clapped, too. Ethan whistled. A few earnest compliments, a few teasing remarks, and then the table was carrying on with its mingled conversations.

 

Jason sat very still.

 

Slade shifted, and Jason’s eyes immediately tracked the movement. He held his breath when Slade leaned forward a fraction. “Why don’t we go get the next round?” Jason was up and following after him before he’d really registered moving.

 

Damn, Slade probably thought he was easy for it.

 

Jason tried not to laugh at himself. He _was_ easy for it; there was no denying that. And why shouldn’t he want to get under Slade? He was exactly Jason’s type.

 

Waiting to get what he wanted was something Jason had long since adapted to, and he knew it would make the actual act more satisfying but...

 

They leaned at the sticky bar together, and Jason let Slade give the bartender the table’s order-- still on Jason’s tab, of course. Heat rolled off Slade in waves, and where they touched-- at their elbows-- it felt like electricity was arcing between them.

 

... Jason was just about done waiting.

 

“I think I have a headache,” he said, and watched as Slade turned quickly toward with him something like concern in his eyes Then he caught onto Jason’s tone and look, nodding slowly. “Think I’m gunna smoke and then get outta here.”

 

Slade looked amused-- no, he looked _pleased_ , as if Jason doing something as simple as creating an opening for them to leave was clever, and surprisingly so. Jason tried not to let that go to his head, but it felt good to have someone look at him like that. Like he was something special.

 

Slade nodded his head again, shifting minutely closer to say, lowly, “I’ll be out ten minutes after you,” and then gathered their ordered drinks as the bartender set them down, gesturing for Jason to do the same.

 

After parsing out the drinks and packing up his guitar, Jason straightened up and dropped a couple of bills onto the table in front of a very drunk Tate.

 

“Alright, gents. I’m calling it a night.” A bout of friendly ribbing went by, and Jason took it all in stride. “I’ll see y’all soon. Stay outta trouble,” he said, locking eyes with Ethan, who looked playfully offended.

 

Jason winked as he walked out. He was glad his and Ethan’s circuits took them to the same place next week; after a month on the road with the kid, they’d gotten close enough for Jason to know he would miss him when they went their separate ways

 

He didn’t want to have to deal with missing anybody else.

 

God, he was a fucking mess. Shaking his head at his own melodrama, Jason settled his back against the rough brick wall out front of the bar, guitar case at his feet, and shook a cigarette free. He was only three drags in when the door banged opened to his left.

 

His heart leapt.

 

But it wasn’t Slade, it was just Brookes.

 

Jason let his eyes skip over Brookes as if he’d just been watching the sunset instead of waiting for someone to meet him. He tried to force his heart to slow.

 

“So,” Brookes said, and Jason inclined his head to show that he was listening. They’d never really talked before, but this seemed like as good a way as any to kill time. “You’re a faggot, huh?” Jason felt his breath catch in his chest, his gaze jerking up and zeroing in on Brookes. He knew that whatever his face had done when he looked up had given him away when Brookes’ expression morphed from displeasure into disgust.

 

Jason had just enough time think _“Oh, fuck,”_ before Brookes’ fist connected with his jaw.  

 

*    *    *    *    *    *

 

Jason Todd was everything Slade had expected-- but he was also surprising Slade at every turn.

 

Todd was reckless and just-this-side-of-arrogant. He was also young and vulnerable in ways Slade thought the kid probably didn’t even realize.

 

The conversation around him was no longer worth paying attention to now that Jason wasn’t sitting beside him, so Slade thought of the barely there touch of Jason’s fingers against his thigh, of the sweet sound of Jason’s voice when he sang, while he waited the allotted ten minutes.

 

Only a few minutes after Jason had walked out, one of the other riders pushed roughly away from the table and stomped out the door. That sent of pang of unease through him; a violent drunk was not to be trifled with. Slade swept his gaze over the rest of the table, wondering if someone would go after their wayward friend, but all the other young men were either too drunk or too distracted to care what was going on around them.

 

Obviously, no one would notice his absence. Slade weighed his options for a moment, but ten minutes was a long time and Jason was just outside.

 

When he thought about it like that, it wasn’t much of a decision.

 

Slade didn’t waste time making excuses or crafting explanations; he got up and walked out, dropping two twenties on the table next to Jason’s mound of bills. Slade’s eyes caught and held on the folded, wrinkled money. He’d seen Jason nearly empty his wallet to pay for the table, and now some part of Slade wanted to be the one paying for Jason. Not tonight, specifically, but in general.

 

That… was a new urge, and one Slade didn’t want to focus on. From what he knew of Jason, the boy wouldn’t accept being pampered in such a fashion; and besides, Slade was only going to have one night with the kid so fantasizing about buying him clothes and a fancy dinner did absolutely no one any good whatsoever.

 

He was only a few steps from the door when Slade caught the sounds of a crash from outside.  Stomach suddenly tight with anxiety, Slade dashed out the door to find exactly what he had feared. The boy who had followed Jason outside, the angry drunk, was straddling Jason’s chest, thighs muscular enough from bull riding to completely immobilize Jason’s arms where they were pinned at his sides. Blood was pouring out of Jason’s nose, though it didn’t look broken thankfully, and his bottom lip was split. Jason had clearly put up a fight at least; the other boy’s face was just as bloody, and even more bruised. As Slade watched, the boy raised his fist to hit Jason with a closed fist at an angle that was liable to do actual damage.

 

“-like that, Todd? You’re a fucking pervert,” the kid said, rocking his hips obscenely against Jason’s chest. Jason snarled wordlessly back at him, but there was clear terror on his face and in the way he desperately wriggled, trying to escape instead of fighting back.

 

Reflexes taking over, Slade was moving before he could consider pulling his punches or trying to talk the kid down. All that mattered was getting him away from Jason.

 

In the next second, the drunk boy was sprawled gracelessly on the front patio of the bar, a fresh bruise splotching red and ugly on his jaw in the imprint of Slade’s knuckles, and Slade was helping Jason to slowly sit up.

 

Jason looked shaken, though none of his injuries were obviously serious and there was no evidence of… anything else. But from what Slade had seen, he had to ask, “Did he hurt you?” He flicked his eyes deliberately down to Jason’s lap before looking back up.

 

Jason swallowed thickly but shook his head.

 

“Oh, great,” the kid said, voice slurred and muffled with alcohol and swelling. “Two faggots.” He didn’t look inclined to stand back up, but there was still fight in his voice. Slade’s hand tightened on Jason’s shoulder protectively.

 

Slade turned his most practiced, most effective, glare on the kid and watched him visibly shrink away. Some small part of Slade was soothed by that reaction.

 

“Shut up,” Slade said, calmly, slowly. “I would assume it is exceedingly difficult to ride a bull with two broken legs.” He watched, unblinkingly, as the boy’s face paled. “You will leave town tonight. You will not come back. Do you understand?” He looked away after being sure his point got across sufficiently, the kid frantically nodding. Slade made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat and turned his attention back to Jason.

 

Though pale, Jason looked better; enough so that Slade didn’t stop him when he started to stand. It took a few seconds for Jason to find his feet, and for a while the only sound between them was that of Jason’s boots shuffling against the dusty concrete of the patio. Slade didn’t let go, keeping a steadying hand under Jason’s elbow and another at the small of his back, and eventually Jason breathed deeply as he seemed to really catch his balance.

 

He looked up at Slade with tears in his eyes and spiking his dark lashes, and Slade felt a surge of possessiveness that registered on a level Slade had only ever felt towards his own children.

 

“Thank you,” Jason said, voice hoarse and broken. “You didn’t have to do that.” His hands were shaking, Slade noticed, where Jason was carefully keeping them at his sides.

 

“I know,” Slade said. He wrapped his arm securely around Jason’s waist and tugged until his chin rested lightly against the crown of the kid’s head. A violent shudder wracked Jason before he went practically limp, trusting his weight to Slade and clinging to his shirt desperately, hands still trembling. Slade pressed a light kiss to Jason’s temple, not bothering to check if anyone was around to witness it, a weary kind of anger pounding along with the rhythm of his heart. “I’ve got you, kid. Let me take care of you. Let me take you home, huh?”

 

There was a pause, and Slade could almost hear him thinking, before Jason nodded his head and buried his face more firmly against Slade’s collarbone.

 

Slade gently led Jason to the passenger seat of his truck and buckled him in.

 

Of all the ways Slade had thought tonight might end, it wasn’t with Jason sitting bleeding and teary eyed in his truck, illuminated by the dashboard lights like a scene out of a movie. Poor kid really did make a heartbreaking picture. He’d never seen someone look so lost.

 

Slade could hardly bear the blank look in Jason’s sea green eyes that had been so full of fire just a few minutes ago. After he’d started the truck, and telegraphing ever movement, Slade reached over and laced his fingers with Jason’s, careful of his raw knuckles.

 

“Thank you,” Jason said again, nearly a whisper. A thumb dragged itself in a small circle over the back of Slade’s hand.

 

Slade squeezed Jason’s hand lightly in answer and hoped he could hold the kid together for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! So sorry for the wait, but the holidays were crazy and as you can see this chapter is a whopper and took me a while to flesh out and get right. Let me know what you think in the comments! <3 <3

Blearily, Jason blinked his eyes open, eyelids heavy and rough as sandpaper. Looking around, the first thing his half-conscious brain processed was that he was  _ not  _ in his motel room-- it was way too clean, and the bed was actually comfortable as opposed to the lumpy shit he’d become accustomed to while traveling. 

 

The second thing he realized, shortly after trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, was that he  _ hurt _ . With careful fingers, he pressed around the skin of his eye and cheek and hissed at the ache that suddenly pulsed at the forefront of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut as the rest of his face also lit up in a dull ache as if in response to his gentle probing. The pain woke him the rest of the way up and the previous day came rushing back to him, feeling like a bucket of cold water. Meeting Slade, the bar, the fight… 

 

Jason winced as his pride smarted at the idea of someone like Slade-- calm, controlled, confident-- seeing him so upset over a drunken fistfight, and then winced again when moving his face pulled at his split lip. Slade hadn’t acted any different towards Jason after he’d gotten his ass kicked, aside from treating him like a spooked horse, but Jason couldn’t help but think he’d ruined any chance he’d had of getting into Slade’s pants. Disappointment made Jason frown, which hurt only slightly less than wincing; if things had gone right at the bar, he was positive he and Slade would’ve had an amazing night together. With arms as big around as Jason’s head, and an attitude that screamed control-freak, Slade was just what Jason wanted, what he  _ needed _ \-- someone willing to throw him around and take the power out of Jason’s hands for a few hours. 

 

Thinking about what he’d missed out on made Jason yearn for the warmth of Slade’s hands. He remembered with vivid clarity how gentle those hands had been cleaning and patching him up, the way Slade had pushed Jason’s hair off his forehead after essentially tucking Jason into bed. Alcohol combined with being beaten up and almost sexually assaulted had been a dizzying, markedly unpleasant experience; Jason was quietly grateful Slade had been there to pick him up and dust him off, though he didn’t think he’d ever admit to that weakness out loud.  

 

Sighing heavily, Jason very slowly pushed himself into a sitting position; he didn’t have a headache yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. Having slept fully clothed-- aside from his boots and belt, which, with a blush, he remembered Slade removing-- in the middle of summer had left Jason sticky with sweat. The sour smell was permeating the room already, making him scrunch up his nose as he caught a whiff. After untangling himself from the white cotton top sheet, which was also damp with sleep-sweat, Jason swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees while taking stock of his surroundings. He’d been too out of it to do so the night before. 

 

The room was of decent size. Light grey-blue walls, a framed picture of a beach house hanging over a small dresser as the only decoration, a large window over the bed, and a closed door directly across from where he was sitting meant the space felt open, if empty. The blinds to the window were mostly closed, but the grey, watery light filtering in alluded to early morning. Jason breathed a small sigh of relief, thankful he hadn’t yet overstayed his welcome. When his gaze dropped to the bedside table, he found a tall glass of water and two small red pills; he assumed the pills were advil and gulped them down along with half of the water. His phone was also on the side table, resting screen down on the light wood and plugged into a charger that did not belong to Jason. The fact that Slade had taken the time to plug Jason’s phone in had a tiny smile spreading over his face.  

 

At that point, the stench of sweat and the leftover coppery scent of blood became too much and Jason hoisted himself to his feet with a quiet grunt. His vision immediately started to tunnel, and Jason wobbled unsteadily for a moment before his ears stopped ringing and he blinked his eyes until everything came back into focus. Jason held himself still for while he took a few deep breaths, just to be sure, and then moved resolutely towards the door that he vaguely remembered Slade pointing out as the bathroom.

 

The bathroom was painted an even lighter blue than the bedroom, and looked remarkable clean and elegantly, yet simply, decorated with a single candle on the sink counter and white and dark blue hand towels. The lighting was blessedly soft and only hurt Jason’s eyes for a moment before they adjusted. After a few seconds of squinting, he was left leaning against the white porcelain of the sink and staring at his reflection. Everything about him was rumpled. His black hair was standing up in weird cowlicks all over his head, his eyes were red rimmed and faintly bloodshot, and the stubble was already shadowing his cheeks. He looked as raw and worn out as he felt, which was both satisfying and disheartening somehow. The bruising colored a long patch of skin on the left side of his face, though it wasn’t so bad as Jason had feared it would be; the purples and blues and blacks made the blue-green of his eye stand out with nearly startling contrast. His lip, split fairly deeply, was crusted over with dried, flaking blood and also bruised. The swelling was minimal, even around his eye where the bruising was deep, thanks to Slade applying ice to worst spots almost immediately. 

 

All in all, Jason thought that Brookes probably woke up and looked way worse, and that was all that mattered. The bruises would fade and be gone within a couple weeks, and the split lip wouldn’t be too troublesome till it healed; the pain wasn’t too bad, either. He’d had much worse.   

 

That thought, more than the evidence of his lost fight, had Jason turning away from the mirror. 

 

He took a much needed piss, shucked off his clothes, tossing them back into the bedroom, and kicked the bathroom door closed. Climbing into the shower, he fumblingly turned the water on. He hadn’t paid much attention to the temperature he’d set, but the water came out already warm. Though he’d been prepared to take a quick, cold shower, Jason reveled in the hot spray for a few minutes. Figuring that Slade had set him up in the guestroom for a reason, Jason didn’t feel guilty about the unnecessary amount of sharp-smelling body wash he used. He also helped himself to the mostly full bottles of shampoo and conditioner sitting on the edge of the tub. The soap and the pressure of the water made his lip sting and his bruises throb, but Jason tipped his head back under the shower head, eyes closed, until the steam was oppressive and thick and he could barely see his toes through it when he looked down.

 

Jason stepped out of the shower dripping water and grabbed a fluffy white towel off the rack above the toilet and made quick work of rubbing himself dry before wrapping the towel loosely around his waist. As he walked towards the door-- locking eyes with himself in the mirror because he refused to flinch away from his own reflection-- he noticed a travel size bottle of mouthwash sitting on the lip of the sink, and paused. He would undoubtedly see Slade on his way out the door, and Jason really ought to thank him for being so kind. That didn’t necessarily require minty fresh breath, and Jason was almost sure his chances of getting with Slade were well into the negatives, it paid to be prepared. So he grabbed the bottle, took a small swig, and did his best to clear the taste of stale alcohol, blood, and sleep from his mouth. 

 

It wasn’t until he’d gotten back into the bedroom that he realized the only clothes he had to wear were the, frankly, disgusting ones he’d slept in. Then he realized he didn’t have any clothes because he didn’t have his bag, which was in his truck. His truck, that was still at the bar from last night, since Slade had driven him. In short, Jason was going to have to ask Slade to drive him all the way back to the bar to get his truck. 

 

“Fuck,” Jason said softly, running his hand through his damp hair, inadvertently slicking it back. He had been hoping to part on good terms with Slade, had wanted to make their last interaction short and to the point to avoid making things awkward. Spending the night, bleeding and mostly unconscious, in the house of a man he’d planned to fuck was bound to make for stilted conversation, at least on Jason’s part. Plus, Jason hated asking for favors, and he especially hated inconveniencing people who had helped him, but he was fresh out of options. 

 

On top of it all, he was going to stink because of his dirty clothes. They’d been dirty before Jason had slept in them because he hadn’t bothered changing before going to meet Slade at the bar. He hadn’t really been planning on wearing them for that long after he’d won the challenge, honestly. 

 

He stared down at the pile of rank clothes with an unhappy frown but he couldn’t think of a way around it. Giving a heartfelt sigh, Jason dropped the towel and grabbed his jeans and underwear from where he’d left them on the bed. There were fresh dirt stains on the knees of his jeans, and his underwear were still disgustingly damp with sweat; Jason immediately threw his briefs to the side and tried not to gag. Going commando till he got back to his bag and some fresh clothes wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, he decided. Once he’d gotten his jeans on-- and adjusted his dick so that it didn’t dig into the zipper-- he unplugged his phone from the burrowed charger and stuffed it into his pocket. His shirts, both the white undershirt and button down, were wrinkled and stained and gross, but the undershirt smelled worse so he tossed it in the direction of his underwear and slid his arms into the worn-thin button down. Without the t-shirt underneath, it exposed the top of his chest. He considered doing up one more button, but he didn’t think Slade would mind too much, so he left it. His boots, dusty and old and so broken in he could wear them for three days straight without getting blisters, were set neatly by the door, his socks laying over the toes. Collecting his discarded clothes, he rolled the briefs up inside the shirt in a little burrito and stuffed the roll into his left boot  before pulling the socks on. His boots he picked up to carry out the door with him-- he knew what kind of damage boot heels could do to flooring, and he knew better than to wear them inside someone’s home. 

 

As he straightened, he noticed a can of air freshener. 

 

“What the hell,” he said to himself, and sprayed it around his torso, focusing mostly around his pits. He coughed a little at the overwhelming smell of apples and cinnamon, but it was definitely better than sweat.

 

The door opened silently onto a dark hallway similarly decorated to the bedroom: Nearly spartan in its simplicity, yet luxurious. Jason looked to his left, then to his right, brow furrowing. Six doors lined the hallway, three on each side, all closed, but there was no obvious stairwell.

 

Despite an ingrained sense of courtesy that railed against the idea of snooping, Jason was  _ curious _ . Slade didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have invited him over, or brought him here, if he had a family. So why so many rooms? Under the guise of searching for the stairs, which he could logically assume were at one end of the hallway or the other, Jason stepped across the hallway and reached for the doorknob of the door across from him, holding his breath. 

 

That breath left him in a rush when he found a bedroom identical to the one he’d spent the night in, only painted green walls with grey sheets. Jason pursed his lips in a pout. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but he’d hoped for something more exciting than another guestroom. Closing the door with a soft click, he moved to the door on the left; it wasn’t set directly parallel to the door opposite it, and Jason could see the line where the hardwood stopped and carpet began under the edge of the door. The gigantic projector screen and ten plush leather chairs drew a low whistle from Jason who, despite his humble beginnings and current occupation, had a taste for the expensive. He couldn’t help but notice how the hinges on the door squeaked slightly when he pushed it further open, clearly not having been opened in a while. Jason wondered why Slade had an entertainment room if he wasn’t going to use it. 

 

The next two rooms Jason peeked into were guestrooms, boring in their uniformity and organization. He did find the stairs, wide and winding and the same dark red-brown wood as the rest of the floor, around the corner from the last bedroom. He stared down the steps for a long moment, but there was still one more door he hadn’t opened and Jason couldn’t help himself-- he had to see what was inside. 

 

Roughly the same size as the four guestrooms, the room’s back wall was made entirely of windows that looked out onto a huge, manicured backyard that backed right up to untamed wild, golden grass and, eventually, a scraggly wood that transformed into true wilderness after a few feet. Jason admired the view for a while. The sun was golden and bright, the sky cloudless and brilliantly blue, like a picture you would see on a Texas postcard; all that was missing was a couple of longhorns and bluebonnets. Jason idly wondered what exactly Slade did to afford a place like this, before turning his gaze to the rest of the room. A large couch of cherry leather was pushed up against the wall, two wide chairs of the same leather facing it. All three sat on a huge, soft looking, white rug. A bookcase, half empty, occupied the wall opposite the couch. Jason was about to venture further than three steps past the doorway, to see what types of books Slade kept, when he noticed the layer of dust over the couch and chairs. That had him pausing mid step. Apparently, Slade didn’t use half the room upstairs. Jason turned around and closed the door behind him before he could intrude any further. 

 

Jason descended the steps slowly, both so that his socks wouldn’t slip on the hardwood and break his neck, as well as to listen for Slade moving around on the lower floor. The stairs didn’t so much as creak under his feet. Jason didn’t hear anything that would help him figure out where Slade was, everything eerily quiet and still around him. He stood on the landing, listening and peering into the sleepy half-lit house for several long seconds before ultimately deciding that Slade was either still asleep or wasn’t in the house at all. Jason didn’t know Slade very well, but he felt he knew enough to comfortably assume that Slade didn’t make a habit of sleeping in past seven in the morning. That meant that Slade had left, which also meant Jason was stuck in his house until he came back. 

 

After setting his boots down and out of the way in the corner of the landing, Jason shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the last two stairs. To his right, a front room and small entryway that led to the front door. To his left, what was clearly a living room, though Jason could only see the back of a couch and half a floor-to-ceiling window framed by a linen curtain. Everything was decorated in creams and whites and light browns and was very obviously expensive, at least to Jason’s knowing, appreciative gaze. Straight in front of him was the arched entrance to a kitchen, and Jason headed in that direction.

 

Immediately, Jason recognized the difference between this room and a majority of the upstairs. Everything in the kitchen was just as expensive and high-end as the rest of the house, but the appliances were frequently used and the sturdy kitchen table had knicks in the legs and placemats folded over the backs of the chairs in a haphazard way that spoke of careless familiarity and use. There were stacks of mail and assorted other shit on the breakfast bar that faced the living room, along with an out-of-place tinfoil covered plate. 

 

Curiosity piqued once again, Jason wedged himself between two stools placed along the edge of the bar. A bright orange sticky note was stuck to the top of the plate that was, surprisingly enough, addressed to Jason. 

 

_ “Got called into work,” _ it read, whatever work was.  _ “I’ll be back soon. Help yourself to breakfast, kid.” _

 

Slade’s handwriting was long and scrawling, and he called Jason “kid,” like he hadn’t been planning on fucking Jason, which was funny and irritating all at once. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Jason peeled back the tinfoil and was rewarded with the smell of a heaping serving of breakfast sausage, bacon, and eggs, making his mouth water instantly. A fork had also been tucked under the foil, probably so that Jason didn’t go pawing through Slade’s drawers. He pulled himself into one of the tall stools and tucked into the food, barely restraining a moan at the first mouthful. It had been a while since Jason had eaten home cooked food-- coupled with the gurgling hunger Jason hadn’t felt until just that moment, Slade’s eggs were possibly the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. 

 

It wasn’t until Jason was halfway through his meal that he bothered to pick his face up out of his plate and look around at the new view. The living room was just as nice as he’d assumed it would be. The couch he’d seen from the stairs faced away from him, towards the rest of the room, with a glass coffee table centered in front of it and bracketed by two overstuffed loveseats. Two windows on the wall let in plenty of light from the backyard, only partially blocked by the voluptuous curtains, making the room feel even larger than it already was. The main focus of the room, however, was the broad, inlaid fireplace and grand mantle that rested elegantly, commandingly, above it. 

 

Jason’s fork froze partway to his mouth. Among a scattering of pictures was a framed metal, hung a foot above the wood of the mantle; from so far away Jason couldn’t see much, but, clearly, it was important to Slade with the way it was being presented. 

 

He shoveled what little remained of his breakfast into his mouth, set his fork and plate into the sink, and tossed the foil in the garbage can nestled at the end of the granite island in the middle of the room. As he wove his way around the furniture and drew closer to the fireplace, he finally got close enough to recognize the metal for what it was: A Silver Star Medal. The red, white, and blue ribbon was artfully arranged, the metal itself gleaming as if Slade had polished it that morning. Jason felt somewhat vindicated; he’d thought Slade had a military background. A Silver Star, though…  _ damn _ . Saving Jason’s ass from a bar fight was probably mundane compared to what Slade had faced overseas; that same embarrassment curled tighter in Jason’s stomach. 

 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the metal and didn’t even realize he was reaching to touch the glass frame until, from behind him, Slade said, “For gallantry in action.” Jason jumped, jerking his hand away and turned to look somewhat guiltily up at Slade, who was standing near the couch, straight backed and as intimidating as Jason remembered. “Or something like that.” Slade didn’t sound angry at Jason overstepping and almost touching something so precious, and, though wasn’t smiling, his ice blue eyes gleamed with warmth as they flicked up to the metal and then back to Jason as he stepped closer. 

 

“That’s... “ Jason didn’t want to say ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’ because that didn’t even come close, but his brain was lagging and the words weren’t coming. He exhaled loudly through his nose and let his awe show on his face, gesturing at the metal and back to Slade with a wave of his hand.

 

Slade chuckled--at Jason’s expense-- and barely inclined his head in something like acceptance of the compliment. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, attention firmly fixed on Jason. Jason felt the intensity of that attention like a physical touch; the air seemed weighted suddenly, that feeling of gravity Jason had experienced when first meeting Slade seemed to take hold of him again, and Jason found himself incapable of looking away. 

 

Then Slade blinked, and it was like the storm had passed. A charge still hung between them, but less so than before. Jason wondered if Slade was aware of the effect that smoldering look had on him. 

 

“How did you sleep?” Slade asked, gaze touching briefly on Jason’s bruises and split lip. 

 

He shook his head subtly. “Pretty good,” Jason answered after a moment. He crossed his own arms, shoulders squaring to Slade. “Most comfortable bed I’ve slept on in months,” he admitted with a smirk. 

 

The corner of Slade’s mouth lifted in response, but his ever-serious eyes didn’t reflect the same amusement. “You were pretty out of it last night,” Slade pointed out, some emotion that Jason couldn’t quite place coloring his voice. “Your head’s not bothering you, is it?” 

 

Jason shrugged one shoulder, not liking that Slade felt like he needed to check on him. It was only a handful of bruises-- anyone could handle that. Still, Slade had helped him, had been kind to him, and therefore deserved an honest answer. So Jason said, “Was a little dizzy when I woke up this morning, but nothing since.” 

 

Slade frowned a little, all amusement officially gone from his expression, and looked as if he were about to press Jason further about his ‘injuries’ so Jason turned away before he could say anything; talking about getting his ass handed to him wouldn’t make him feel better anyways.

 

Looking over the rest of the pictures, Jason’s eye caught and held on an old looking photo. Three children, two boys and one girl, were standing in front a woman with kind eyes and waving brown hair who was tucked under a younger Slade’s arm. Jason could clearly see Slade in the blue of the kids’ eyes, the set of their mouths as they smiled crookedly up at the camera.  

 

For the first time since Jason had met Slade, he felt his gut churn slightly with nervousness. He didn’t think he’d misjudged Slade, but that was undoubtedly a family picture. Steeling himself against Slade’s solid and distracting presence behind him, eyes glued to the picture, Jason turned his head to the side and asked, “This is your family?” 

 

A warm body stepped up behind Jason, close enough that when Slade inhaled slowly, deeply, his chest brushed Jason’s back. There was a moment of silence as they both regarded the picture, where Jason clenched his jaw and physically braced himself against the way he wanted to lean back against Slade.   

 

“Yes,” Slade said lowly, “that’s my family.” He huffed a sigh that tickled the back of Jason’s neck; again, Jason forcibly repressed a shiver at the sensation of the damp breath on his skin. “Or at least, it was.” 

 

It was ugly, Jason knew, to feel so comforted by such a sad statement, but he couldn’t help the wave of relief that rushed through him. Jason liked Slade; it would’ve been more than disappointing to find out he was just another dick chasing a young piece of ass. Jason’s stomach had gone watery, his palms sweating, just at the idea. 

 

Jason cleared his throat to cover up his reaction. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, looking up and over his shoulder at Slade.

 

Eyebrows lifted and mouth curled in a dry smirk, Slade said, “No, you’re not.” Jason cringed lightly, an apology on the tip of his tongue as he turned around to face Slade, but Slade just waved him off. “It’s fine, kid,” he grumbled. “Six tours in Afghanistan tends to strain relationships.” 

 

This time, it was Jason’s eyebrows raising towards his hairline. Before he could think better of prying he was saying, “Six tours,” in a tone that more than conveyed his incredulity. Jason was no expert, but he was sure that was a long time to be away from home.    

 

“We tried to make it work for a while, for the sake of the kids and the company but…”  Slade shrugged and sucked his teeth. “At the time, all I wanted was a fight.” He jerked his chin at the metal over Jason’s shoulder and said, “I got what I wanted.” 

 

Jason watched him for a moment,while he decided what to say, noting the way the edges of Slade’s mouth crinkled as he tried not to frown; it made Jason want to reach out and smooth them out with his fingers. He clenched his hands into fists to curb the urge.

 

Hoping to steer the conversation in a lighter direction, Jason said, “You have your own company?” That would explain a lot about Slade’s taste in home decor, as well as why he’d been called into work at seven am on a Saturday. 

 

Slade’s eyes came back into focus from where they’d been staring over Jason’s shoulder. “Used to,” he said. “Adeline and I had a security company we started with a few of my Marine buddies, up in Star City. We ended up selling out to a big corporation after a few years for an ungodly amount of money.” That made Jason chuckle, which seemed to please Slade, who smiled softly down at him. Something pleasant fluttered inside Jason’s chest at the sight of that smile.  

 

“And now?” Jason could hear the smile in his own voice. 

 

“Now,” Slade sighed, “I have ten thousand acres of land and a cattle ranch I pay someone else to run, and I see my kids on Christmas.”

 

Nodding his head appreciatively-- ten thousand acres was impressive as far as Jason was concerned-- Jason unfolded his arms and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. He didn’t think he was comfortable talking about Slade’s kids anymore than they already had. 

 

Slade tilted his head back and regarded Jason in an appraising kind of way. “Now you’ve heard pretty much my whole life story,” he said. “Seems fair that you tell me a little about yourself, don’t you think?” 

 

Any sense of comfort Jason had felt promptly disappeared. “What do you wanna know?” He was proud that his voice didn’t crack or otherwise betray his feelings that speaking about his past brought up. Or, at least, Jason thought he’d played off his initial-- panicky-- reaction to the suggestion, but Slade’s eyes narrowed and watched him even more closely. 

 

“Why don’t you start with what you’re running from,” Slade said, and Jason’s breath caught in his throat. 

 

“I’m not running from anything,” he automatically denied. 

 

It sounded like a lie. 

 

It  _ was _ a lie. 

 

The unimpressed look Slade leveled on him made it obvious he’d heard the shaky denial, too. Jason’s palms were back to sweating; he rubbed them roughly against his thighs, not quite able to meet Slade’s eye for the first time since they’d met. 

 

“How about the truth this time, kid.” 

 

It was only fair, Jason told himself. Slade had told him more than he had to, had allowed Jason to sleep in his house, eat his food. As hard as it was for Jason to talk about, a glimpse into his past was the least he owed Slade. Still, his mouth was unbearably dry and his throat made an audible clicking noise when he tried to swallow. 

 

Picking the lesser of two evils, Jason ground out, “Me and my old man had a… pretty bad fight. He implied it would be better for me to spend some time away from the family, and I was angry enough to want to get away from him.” Jason shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, trying to ignore Slade’s intensifying scowl. He didn’t want pity, especially not from a man like Slade. “My biological grandfather lived outside Fort Worth, and I still had some friends in the area from the summers I spent there. They helped me out for a while, but turns out the wayward cowboy lifestyle suits me just fine.” 

 

Anger bubbled up under the surface of Jason’s skin, the way it always did when he thought about his life in Gotham or anything before two years ago. He never knew whether it was frustration at himself or Bruce; maybe this time he was angry at Slade for making him talk about it. He didn’t know. 

 

“I’m assuming that means you never talked it out with your dad, then,” Slade said, and Jason looked up at him. The sympathy Jason had grown so accustomed to wasn’t audible in Slade’s voice, though he was still scowling deeply, heavy brow drawn dramatically down over his eyes. 

 

“No. And I haven’t talked to my brothers in a while,” Jason admitted, “but last I heard, Bruce was still… upset about what we’d fought over. Knowing him, it’s going to take more than a couple years for him to be ready to talk to me again.” He sounded bitter, Jason knew he did, but better to let Slade hear his resentment than his shame or his regret. 

 

He and Slade stared at each other. 

 

After a few tense seconds Slade said, “Bruce,” spitting the name out the way Jason used to, though he didn’t sound quite so full of vitriol and teenage spite, “sounds like a fucking asshole.” Slade’s lip was curled with distaste, and he’d drawn himself up tall as if personally offended. 

 

Jason blinked at him. 

 

And then burst into laughter-- the fully bellied kind, the way he hadn’t laughed in what felt like, and might actually have been, years.

 

His lip was a bright point of pain as it cracked open, and Jason cupped his hand over his mouth in a bid to keep blood from dripping onto the floor and stifle his helpless giggles. Slade was staring at him with a mix of poorly masked endearment and no small amount of confusion. 

 

“Sorry,” Jason gasped out, vision blurry from unshed tears. Face beat red, blood pouring down his chin-- he thought he must have looked ridiculous. “I’ve just never really heard anyone else talk about him like that.”

 

Shaking his head, Slade crowded in close and grabbed onto Jason’s upper arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up, cowboy.” 

 

The close proximity, the warm amusement, and the easy nickname was more than Jason could argue with. He followed along after Slade as if he were being pulled along by a string. They walked out of the living room and passed the stairs, turning down a hallway near the front entryway. Jason watched the sway of Slade’s hips the entire way, admiring his powerful thighs and round ass. His hand-- still catching the blood from his lip-- covered his leer. 

 

There was only one door, at the end of the hallway, and Slade led him through and into the master bedroom. 

 

“Sit on the bed,” Slade directed, pushing lightly at Jason’s shoulder until he’d lowered himself to sit on the very edge of the kingsize mattress. Then Slade was gone, walking through tall, white, double doors and into what had to be the bathroom. 

 

The duvet Jason was sitting on was a maroon so deep it was almost black, and when a drop of dark blood slid between Jason’s fingers and onto the silky material, it was completely invisible. Clenching his hand a little tighter, he looked briefly around the room; this was where Slade would spend most of his time, and it might be Jason’s only chance at an in depth glimpse into what kind of person Slade really was. 

 

Being the master bedroom, it was twice as big as the guest rooms upstairs. The ceiling was high, a fan whirling silently ten feet above his head, and the whole room was painted a pleasant off white, accented by darks reds. A bookshelf, similar to the one Jason had seen upstairs, was pressed to the far wall beside a large window; this one was filled to overflowing with books of all different sizes and shapes. A huge, high-backed leather chair, a crocheted purple blanket thrown across one arm, sat beside a small wooden table with a shaded lamp and a book on it.  Like the rest of the house, everything was simple and immaculately kept. The only thing seemingly out of place was a pair of dog tags, hanging from a dip in the ornamental top piece of a dark, wooden dresser just the left of the of the bedroom door. Jason stared at them, insatiably curious about what they would have engraved on them; he wanted to feel the cool heft of them in his hand, run his fingers over the chinks in the metal and know that part of Slade’s past for himself. 

 

A scuffling noise from the bathroom doorway finally had Jason tearing his eyes away from the tags and drawing them to Slade, who had several gauze pads gripped in one hand and a bottle of peroxide in the other. 

 

Slade didn’t ask if Jason wanted to clean his lip on his own. He closed the few feet of space between them with long, confident steps and dropped all but one of the gauze pads and disinfectant onto the bed beside Jason.

 

The sterile padding of the gauze was ripped away and dropped to the floor. Slade gently pulled Jason’s hand away from his mouth, and he regarded Jason silently, tipping Jason’s head one way and then the other a few inches with a firm grip on his chin. Combined with the serious look Slade always seemed to be wearing, the touch to his face made Jason feel incredibly young; he did his best not to fidget. With practiced, efficient movements, Slade wet the pad with the peroxide and started mopping up the mess of blood from Jason’s chin to just below his lip. 

 

“That idiot sure did a number on you, kid,” Slade said without taking his eyes away from Jason’s mouth. 

 

An ember of true annoyance lit up in him at that comment. He wasn’t a  _ kid _ , and he could take care of himself. “Lucky you were there to save me,” he bit out, sounding more petulant than annoyed. In the back of his mind, Jason knew he wasn’t actually angry with Slade but frustration was easier to handle than the shame at the core of it-- shame at how much he liked being cared for, and for needing to be cared for at all. 

 

He’d hardly shifted to snatch the gauze from Slade when those glacier blue eyes slid up to meet his with a flat look. Jason’s hand froze, then lowered. 

 

They maintained eye contact as Slade ripped open and wet another pad; he was a little more rough this time, especially considering he was applying the gauze directly to Jason’s lip. Jason hissed but didn’t pull away. He wasn’t that weak. Slade held his eye for a moment longer before returning his attention to his work. 

 

Hands gentling considerably, Slade said gruffly, “I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

 

Jason stared up at him, trying to parse out what emotion he was hearing in Slade’s voice since his face was still cast in a grave expression that betrayed nothing. It almost sounded like guilt, but that made no sense. Pity, of course, was what Jason had been expecting, but nothing in how Slade had done even remotely alluded to that. 

 

Huffing out a breath through his nose and focusing his gaze on Slade’s chest, Jason grumbled, “Not your fault.” 

 

Again, Slade flicked his eyes up to meet Jason’s. It was clear from the tight line of his mouth that he disagreed. 

 

Jason frowned. It hadn’t occurred to him that Slade would blame himself. It was Brookes he was pissed at, if he was angry with anyone. Slade hadn’t done anything wrong. When he thought back, though, Jason could maybe understand where Slade was coming from; he  _ had _ been the one to encourage Jason to talk and flirt in public. Slade must have believed he’d led Jason right into that fight. 

 

That was so far from the truth that Jason pulled his head away from Slade’s hand, looking up into Slade’s eyes with the most earnest expression he could muster. 

 

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t force me to flirt with you, Slade, I wanted to.” Slade narrowed his eyes in uncertainty, and Jason shook his head with a small smile. “I still want to.” Surprise lit up Slade’s face, the most bold expression Jason had seen from him since before the fight. 

 

Jason snorted and leaned back into Slade’s hand. “You think one asshole who can throw a decent punch is gonna keep me from wanting to get in your pants?” Slade lifted an eyebrow in what Jason read as amusement as he went back to cleaning Jason’s split lip. “That’s not the first time I’ve been caught out. Not even the first time somebody’s hit me for it.” The memory of Brookes grinding down against his chest flashed through his mind, and he sneered as best he could with Slade holding his chin steady and pulling at his bottom lip. “Brookes is an asshole,” he said, and Slade rumbled a low agreement,“but I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, and what… what he did was bullshit, but it doesn’t bother me.” That was mostly true; sure, given the opportunity Jason would punch his lights out for it, but Brookes didn’t scare him. Slade’s hand had gone still, hand gently holding his chin steady and gauze just resting lightly against Jason’s lip as he watched closely. “Don’t blame yourself, cause I sure as shit don’t.” 

 

Slade watched him for a few more seconds and then grunted and looked away. Jason guessed that was the closest thing Slade would give to agreement on the subject. He yelped when Slade applied hard pressure to his lip, and the corners of Slade’s mouth ticked up. Jason scowled and kicked his shin, which only made Slade chuckle, smile turning into a smirk. 

 

The pressure was maintained for a few seconds before Slade pulled the gauze back to check on the split. He clicked his tongue and switched the bloodied pad for a clean one, folded it twice, and then mashed it against Jason’s lip. 

 

“You’re going to have to take it easy for a while,” Slade said quietly. “A few days at least. Just to be safe.” He tapped lightly at the discoloration on the side of Jason’s face. “Need to be gentle with yourself.”

 

Equally as quiet Jason said, “Gentle’s not really my style.” When he spoke his tender, swollen bottom lip dragged against the pad of Slade’s thumb where it held the gauze in place; the sensation made Jason swallow. Above him, Slade went very still, thumb pressing more firmly against Jason’s lip. 

 

Heart beginning to race, Jason chanced a glance up from under his lashes. Slade’s eyes were heavy lidded and focused wholly on his mouth-- not in the way they had been before, in concern. Now, Jason recognized the way Slade was watching him; any plans he’d had of skipping town were pushed aside at that intense look. Jason felt his own eyelids grow heavy, shuttering half closed. 

 

“I’ve always liked it rough,” Jason said, voice nearly hoarse with want. A blush, pink and hot, sprang up across his cheekbones at what he was implying, and then at the renewed force behind Slade’s gaze. 

 

Like anybody else, Jason had whispered the occasional dirty line in a one night stand’s ear in the heat of the moment, but this felt different. It felt like more. He’d never had to put much effort into seducing a guy before, but with Slade he felt like he needed to try just to keep up, and all Slade had done was look at him. 

 

“Is that so,” Slade finally murmured. Jason’s head bobbed once in a jerky nod; he felt half drunk on Slade’s voice, uncoordinated and out of his depth. He could feel his heartbeat in his lip and every other bruise on his face, and Jason thought he might’ve fallen over if Slade hadn’t been touching him. “Ever tried taking it slow?” A shiver ran down Jason’s spine as Slade’s voice dropped even lower, practically a growl; something primal in Jason lit up at the sound.  

 

Breathily, Jason admitted, “Never wanted to.” 

 

A pang of sharp pain went up from his lip when Slade flexed the hand still staunching the bleeding there. Slade’s free hand curved around Jason’s jaw and tipped his head up to a sharper angle, exposing his throat and forcing eye contact. 

 

“That’s a shame,” Slade said. “Great pleasure can come from a gentle touch. If you know what you’re doing.” Again, Jason found himself floundering in the face of Slade’s bluntness. It was comforting to know the attraction was two sided, but mostly Jason felt like a kid in the face Slade’s unspoken-- but obvious-- experience.

 

Hoping to feel a little more grounded, Jason reached up with both hands. One wrapped around Slade’s wrist, of the hand on his jaw, while the other pulled the gauze away from his lip and tossed it to the ground with the rest of the trash. Slade watched Jason with that same heavy gaze, waiting. Jason held his eye while he drew Slade’s thumb into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the tip and then sucking gently. Mouth falling open slightly, Slade’s jeans started to look uncomfortably tight. Holding back a smug smirk, Jason rubbed his tongue up the underside of the finger in his mouth and hummed teasingly. When he bit down and sucked hard, Slade yanked his hand away. That same hand buried itself in Jason’s hair before he could even look up. 

 

Then Slade was kissing him, hot mouth pressing fervently against Jason’s. Eyes closed, his hands automatically reaching out to fist in Slade’s shirtfront. He’d been kissed plenty of times before, but Jason had never in his life been kissed like that-- Slade’s mouth moved over his like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted, like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. To be wanted like that was a heady feeling. Sure, he felt the same way-- because what more could he possibly ask for?-- but being on the receiving end was an entirely different matter.  His bottom lip smarted when Slade lipped at it, like he wanted to bite but was afraid he’d hurt Jason; the gentleness in that made something ache terribly in Jason, right alongside the pounding of his heart. 

 

The kiss deepened. Both of Slade’s big hands framed Jason’s face, holding him in place as Slade leaned further down, muscular shoulders hunched forward to caging him in. The effect had Jason feeling small and delicate, something that needed to be protected. He was completely unfamiliar with both feelings, but they had him craning his neck to bite almost harshly on Slade’s lip to vent the overwhelming arousal building in his gut. Their lips slid together smoothly, a perfect contrast to the way Slade’s white, rough facial hair scraped against Jason’s cheek and chin. One of Slade’s hands left Jason’s face, but Jason was too lost in the kiss to keep track of it. He cracked his eyes open, going nearly cross eyed to see the light pink blush of desire over the bridge of Slade’s nose. 

 

The missing hand brushed across the front of Jason’s jeans with barely any pressure or friction, a ghost of sensation. All the same, it had Jason gasping and arching his back to try and push into the touch. Their breath going ragged, the tip of Slade’s tongue ran a ticklish line along the roof of Jason’s mouth as soon as it opened; Slade tasted like fresh black coffee. That hand pressed more firmly against Jason’s hardening cock for just a moment before Slade broke the kiss and pulled just far enough away to lock eyes with Jason. 

 

“This is what you want?” His voice was deep and rough and quiet--  _ intimate _ between them. One finger tapped at the button of Jason’s jeans, circling it suggestively. 

 

Breath sticking oddly in his throat, Jason released his vice grip on Slade’s shirt to lace his fingers in the white hair at the back of Slade’s head. “This is what I want,” he said, and wasn’t even embarrassed at the way his voice shook. 

 

A pleased look came over Slade’s face; he didn’t smile, but his eyes softened around the edges in a telling way. Leaning close again, Slade rubbed the sides of their noses together, foreheads touching briefly before Jason lunged forward that last inch and brought their lips crashing into urgent contact. Their tongues pushed and slid together in tandem for a while-- in Jason’s mouth, in Slade’s mouth, between their mouths with spit dripping down Jason’s chin-- before Slade did something to the underside of Jason’s tongue that was so dirty Jason groaned and went pliant for a crucial second. The opening was enough for Slade to seal their lips together with a wet noise and plunder Jason’s mouth with a small, low sound of victory. Jason tugged on his hair, not harshly, as Slade’s tongue rolled over and over the split in his lip the sting of it joining the mess of sensations overtaking Jason’s mind. It hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes and Slade had already nearly gotten Jason to that place where thought was unnecessary and impossible; it felt like magic, but it could’ve been lightheadedness from the sudden rush of blood to his dick.

 

While Jason was distracted with Slade thrusting his tongue unabashedly into his mouth, Slade expertly popped the button of Jason’s jeans and lowered the zipper. The cool air of the room was a shock to Jason’s flushed skin; at his gasp, Slade broke the kiss and glanced down between them. His eyes lit up with amusement when he saw that Jason wasn’t wearing underwear, and his fingers dipped below the waistband to teasingly skate his fingers over the skin around Jason’s cock. 

 

“Why doesn’t this surprise me,” Slade asked, mostly to himself. He kissed Jason once more, hard and closed mouth, and then pulled away completely. Jason made a sound of complaint, fingers tightening in Slade’s hair. Chuckling, Slade pried Jason’s hands away and set them in his lap. “Just taking my clothes off, kid. You do the same, then get comfortable on the bed.” 

 

Usually, Jason would have taken his time getting undressed just because he’d been told to do so. With Slade, he damn near ripped two buttons off his shirt as he practically tore it off. Even with his haste, Slade was on him before Jason had fully gotten his pants off, pushing him down onto his back and yanking the jeans down and off his legs. Slade crowded Jason up the mattress and against the mound of pillows by the headboard and gripped Jason’s hips to tug him down to a more comfortable place, urging his thighs to spread at the same time; the manhandling had Jason’s cock visibly twitching as it filled the rest of the way out. 

 

As Slade lowered himself down between Jason’s splayed legs, Jason really  _ looked _ at the man hovering over him. Jason’s initial impression of Slade-- ridiculous height and bulging muscles-- was still astoundingly accurate. From his corded forearms to his massive thighs, Slade was cut, defined muscle; he had lost nothing but the color of his hair to age. And Slade was proportional  _ everywhere _ . His cock, only half hard, was long and thick and uncut, surrounded by a thatch of white hair that matched the curls on his chest and the trail below his navel. 

 

Dreamily, Jason curled his hands into the coarse hair dusted thickly across Slade’s pecs, rubbing the strands between his fingers; all that hair was so masculine, so  _ manly _ . Slade moaned into his ear when one of Jason’s thumbs brushed against a dusky nipple, and that sound was everything Jason had hoped for and more, so he did it again. The third time was almost an accident, just a jerk of his hand, because Slade gave a slow thrust into the cradle of Jason’s hips, elbows braced on either side of Jason’s head. Jason tore his eyes away from Slade’s chest just in time to watch the next thrust, to see how their cocks moved against each other. Eyes screwing shut, Jason threw his head back against the pillow and moaned, long and low. 

 

Slade took advantage of his bared throat, nipping and kissing and sucking as he thrusted again. The friction was otherworldly, even without lube, and Jason’s hips flexed to chase the sensation, but Slade was already out of reach, sitting up on his knees and staring down at Jason like he was about to eat him alive. Between them, the air was alive with tension and anticipation. The hairs on Jason’s arms stood on end as Slade slowly leaned towards him. Jason arched up to meet him, but Slade put a hand to the center of his chest and pressed him back into the bed. His palm was calloused and rough and Jason pushed into the contact just to feel the strength behind it, to feel Slade physically holding him down with such little effort. When Slade kneeled back, there were two pillows clutched in his left hand.  

 

“Lift up your hips,” Slade instructed, right hand cupping Jason’s hipbone and squeezing. 

 

Jason raised one eyebrow questioningly, but did as he was told. His heart started thundering faster as Slade shoved first one pillow, and then the next, underneath Jason’s hips so that his ass was elevated and completely on display. Slade sat back on his heels and his intent gaze fell to Jason’s hole. He’d never been studied so closely before, not  _ there _ ; embarrassment welled up, making his sex-flushed face burn brighter. Before he could even consider closing his legs, Slade had his hands on the inside of either thigh, holding tightly, and pushing his legs even further apart. 

 

Two thick fingers stroked from just behind Jason’s balls back to his hole. A moan, loud and mortifyingly high pitched, tore itself from Jason’s throat; he brought his hands up to his mouth and bit at his fingers to keep anymore noises inside. Insistent pressure against his hole drew another, muffled, moan out of Jason. 

 

Slade looked up and frowned a little. 

 

Stretching out across the bed, Slade shooed Jason’s hands away from his mouth, and then kissed him. “You look gorgeous laid out like this,” he mumbled against Jason’s kiss swollen lips, running his tongue along the seam. “I know you’ll sound just as good, so don’t hold anything back.” There was a hint of command in that suggestion that caused Jason’s eyes to flutter closed. He managed to nod once in acknowledgement and Slade hummed, satisfied. 

 

The mattress shifted as Slade pulled away, though their chests remained pressed together. It Jason took a few seconds to collect himself enough to turn his head and see Slade pulling something long and black from the top drawer of the side table. His breath stuttered when he saw what it was.

 

A fleshlight. 

 

Slade saw Jason’s face and smirked as he squirted a liberal amount of lube into the pink silicon opening. 

 

“This’ll make you feel good, gorgeous,” Slade promised as he reclaimed his spot between Jason’s thighs. 

 

Slade fit the head of Jason’s cock into the slicked fleshlight. Wet, obscene, squelching noises filled the room as Slade gave Jason’s cock a few strokes, but Jason hardly registered them as he practically levitated off the bed at how good it felt, his hips driving up into the snug fit of the toy. The angle the pillows held him at made thrusting a real effort, and Jason was sweating before long. 

 

Slade made low, appreciative noises as he worked the toy up and down Jason’s cock for a few minutes. Soon-- too soon-- though, Slade pulled his hand away, leaving the fleshlight flush to Jason’s balls with his cock pulsing inside. Jason whined, well past the point of being embarrassed by seeming too eager, and reached down to wrap his hand around the fleshlight himself. 

 

Slade tutted disapprovingly as he grabbed Jason’s wrist,. 

 

“Just relax. I know what I’m doing.” 

 

Jason whined again, twisting his arm in Slade’s grip; Slade shushed him, pressing Jason’s wrist down and squeezing tightly for a moment before letting go. The unspoken command to keep his hands away from his own cock was obvious, and no matter how much Jason wanted to hurry towards coming, he wanted Slade to touch him more. 

 

So he pulled his hands up by his head, and said, “I’m relaxed.” Slade rolled his eyes but still turned his attention back to Jason’s ass, and that was good enough. 

 

Without the distraction of a hand on his cock, Jason was left to completely focus on the way Slade had spread his cheeks apart and was eying his hole. He expected lubed fingers to prod at him imminently, to prep and stretch him to take Slade’s cock. Instead, Slade just adjusted his grip to the backs of Jason’s thighs and pulled Jason’s knees over his shoulders, suddenly at eye level with Jason’s ass. Then, Slade leaned forward and kissed his hole-- open mouthed and sloppy, and it was so unexpected and new that Jason shuddered, his whole body clenching up. 

 

Looking up at him, mouth still hovering scant centimeters from his puckered hole, Slade  _ smiled _ . It was a wicked thing, and Jason knew with a sinking certainty that Slade was about to take him apart in ways he was wholly unprepared for. Slade ducked down again, trimmed beard rough against the smooth skin of Jason’s ass. Jason managed not to jump at the initial touch of Slade’s mouth, but went rigid as soon as he felt the wet touch of a tongue, licking at him in broad swipes. Sensing the tension in Jason’s body, Slade tightened his hold around Jason’s thighs, holding him in position. 

 

After only a few seconds, Jason was gasping out, “W-wait, wait.” He didn’t know when he’d reached down, but his fingers were laced through Slade’s white hair, gripping tightly. He loosened his hold, but didn’t let go. 

 

Stilling immediately, Slade released one of Jason’s thighs to wrap his hand around the one Jason had wound in his hair. 

 

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, and Jason knew that if he said yes, Slade wouldn’t argue or ask questions. 

 

But Jason didn’t want to stop. He wanted  _ everything _ , he just didn’t know how to ask for that with a fog of lust making his thoughts sluggish. An odd feeling was building just under his sternum, making him restless and desperate to move and distracting him even further. 

 

“No,” Jason said hoarsely. “Don’t stop. Just… I-I’ve never done this before.” Slade’s look of concern melted into something else, something hotter and weighted with desire.  

 

Gently, Slade disentangled Jason’s fingers from his hair and kissed the palm of his hand. “When I’m done with you,” Slade said quietly, “you’ll never want anyone else’s mouth on your ass again, anyways, gorgeous.” 

 

Without waiting for a response, Slade lowered his mouth to Jason’s hole again, licking and kissing and  _ sucking _ . Jason laced his fingers through Slade’s hair again, trying to ground himself somehow, but the suction against his rim had his whole body trembling. 

 

Jason turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. He felt out of control, needy, and desperate, and the sounds coming from of his mouth reflected it; moans, whines, whimpers, curses, and even a few pleas all mingled to become one constant stream of noise. Right on the edge of falling into that quiet headspace, Jason couldn’t have held back the noises Slade was punching out of him if he’d wanted to. 

 

Slade’s tongue eventually pushed its way past the tight ring of muscle, and Jason sobbed at the feeling of it moving inside him. He tried to push his ass back onto Slade’s face, but Slade held him steady hardly allowing any movement at all, so Jason was left to writhe and sweat and tug at his own hair with one hand and Slade’s hair with other as Slade ate him out. 

 

After an indeterminate number of minutes, Slade nibbled at his rim. Jason jerked violently at the intense sensation, and a wordless shout tore out of his throat that left him panting. 

 

“Slade, please,” he moaned. “Please, please,  _ fuck _ me.” 

 

That caused a pause in Slade’s ruthless rhythm. 

 

A biting kiss was placed on the inside curve of each asscheek before Slade said, “Fuck you? I’m not going to fuck you. When I said you needed to take it easy, I meant it.” Jason stared down in disbelief, on the verge of telling Slade that he could take a lot more than he was being given credit for, but lost his train of thought when he saw how red Slade’s lips had become. “When you’re ready, I’ll ruin you for that, too. But not today.” 

 

After that, Slade’s pattern changed, alternating between teasingly slow, light touches of his tongue, to penetration and unforgiving suction against Jason’s fluttering rim. He paid special attention to Jason’s rim when he figured out that the lightest touch of teeth could reduce Jason to tears. Jason had damn near forgotten about the fleshlight when Slade reached around the outside of Jason’s hip and took hold of it again. The torturous roll of Slade’s tongue, now paired with the pumping of his cock, had actual tears spilling down Jason’s sex flushed cheeks and guttural, animal wails reverberating off the walls. 

 

It all accumulated to sink him into that place where Jason was incoherent with pleasure, where words were beyond him, so that he couldn't even beg properly as Slade worked him right up to the edge of coming and pulled him back again and again. Slade came up for air a few times-- though the fleshlight never slowed-- sucking marks into the inside of Jason’s thighs and the curve of his ass, calling out lewd praises before his mouth was right back on Jason’s hole. 

 

Jason was completely overwhelmed. He was used to fast, rough fucking, not this torture disguised as gentle handling. Not to mention that, with all his other quick fucks, the point had been to come as quickly as possible. He had no idea how to handle the way Slade was edging him. Having his ass eaten would have been intense all on its own, since Slade clearly knew exactly what he was doing, but combined with the constant friction and tight hold of the fleshjack against his cock the pleasure was… blinding. Disorienting. And Slade was so strong that Jason couldn’t thrash or kick out, he could only lay there and take it. 

 

Eventually-- it could have been hours, for all Jason knew-- a finger wormed its way inside Jason’s loosened hole alongside Slade’s tongue. Jason sucked in a shaking breath and groaned shakily as it hooked and pulled against his rim, just enough to accentuate the stretch of it. Sweat dripped down Jason’s chin and onto his chest, the stench of it mixing with the heavy smell of sex in the room. Jason’s back lifted off the bed as Slade tugged on his rim and twisted the fleshlight at the same time. When he fell back to the bed, he mewled and tugged imploringly at Slade’s hair. 

 

Slade’s eyes flicked up to him and Jason could just see the pink of his tongue as it worked in and out of his hole through his tear-blurry eyes. They watched each other for a heartbeat. Then Slade’s grip on his cock and ass changed, tilting Jason up another few inches so that when Slade’s finger pushed back into his hole, it hit Jason’s prostate directly. The fleshlight began pumping faster simultaneously. 

 

An inhuman sound somewhere between a keen and a whimper ripped out of Jason’s mouth as Slade started up the new rhythm. With Slade’s tongue in his ass, unerring pressure against his prostate, and the fleshlight steadily stripping his cock, it didn’t take long before Jason was on the verge of coming yet again. He expected Slade to slow at the telltale signs, but he only sped up, and Jason was gone. 

 

Abdominal muscles spasming, thighs trembling, Jason came with a scream. His cock pulsed and pulsed inside the fleshlight, and it felt like it would never end. 

 

Before Jason’s orgasm had completely abated, Slade’s mouth left his clenching hole and the fleshjack was gently pulled off. Jason whined pathetically, blindly turning his head in Slade’s direction; he was quieted with a messy kiss, which he gave himself over to immediately. He tasted himself on Slade’s tongue, and then groaned as his spent cock twitched in response. Slade chuckled as he carefully pulled the pillows from underneath Jason’s hips and crawled over him, fat cock flushed and so hard Jason thought it must’ve hurt. 

 

Settling himself between Jason’s thighs once again, Slade balanced on his knees and took himself in hand as he stared down at Jason. He must have made quite the debauched image: Face red and slack, eyes glassy from crying, pupils blown wide from coming,hands lying limply beside his head on the pillow.

 

Braced on one hand, Slade leaned down so that his mouth was right beside Jason’s ear. For a while they stayed like that-- chests nearly pressed together, with Slade jacking off above him and Jason basking in the afterglow of the most intense orgasm of his life. Jason eventually gathered enough energy to wind his arms loosely around Slade’s neck, staring up at the ceiling as Slade’s breathing became labored in his ear. 

 

“I’ve never heard someone make noises like that,” Slade said suddenly, breathless. The fleshy sound of his hand working over his own cock was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Still trembling, Jason reached down and rubbed his palm over the wet tip of Slade’s cock in fast circles; Slade bucked forward into the touch with a choked groan. “I think I could have come just listening to you. Watching you fall apart and beg for my tongue in your ass…  _ God _ ,” he moaned, drawn out and shaky. Jason felt come splash wetly on his stomach and turned to kiss the side of Slade’s throat, breathing in the scent of Slade’s sweat and sex and let his eyes slide shut. 

 

Exhaustion was just beginning to truly pull at Jason when Slade kissed his cheek and started to pull away. Jason frowned and tightened his grip-- just for a moment-- before letting go. Slade looked down at him, sated and sleepy eyed, and shook his head with a tiny smile. Rolling off of Jason, he slowly sat up and then levered himself to standing; he grabbed the fleshlight from the side of the bed and scooped up the first aid trash they’d left on the floor, and made his way into the dark bathroom. 

 

Jason watched him go, unable to stop himself from staring at such an amazing ass, before Slade was out of his field of view. Then he closed his eyes and basked in the last few moments of his afterglow, sinking into the mattress and incredibly soft pillows. He lamented the lack of soreness in his body, since Slade had only put the equivalent of two fingers inside him. At least he would have the bruises on his legs and ass to remember Slade by. 

 

The sound of something heavy dropping to the ground by the bed had Jason blinking his eyes open. Slade was back from the bathroom, still naked but somewhat cleaned up, and holding a washcloth. Jason spread his arms and tipped his head back, slanting a look up at Slade, who only sighed and set to work wiping the come off of Jason’s chest and stomach and the sweat from under his arms and around the hollow of his neck. While Slade dutifully cleaned him off, Jason peered over the edge of the bed at what else Slade had brought with him. 

 

For half a second, he didn’t understand that it was his duffle bag. When he did, it still didn’t make any sense. 

 

“How…” Jason started, looking up as Slade was pulling away to return the dirty washcloth to the bathroom. “When did you get my bag?” 

 

From the other room, Slade called, “I had a friend pick your truck up this morning. Pulled the keys from your pocket when I got you here last night, figured you’d want your stuff.” The light in the bathroom flicked off again and Slade reappeared, crossing to the bed and looking impassively down at Jason. “Hope you don’t mind.” 

 

“Why would I mind?” Jason ask incredulously. Slade nudged at his side with two fingers as he pulled down the corner of the bedding; Jason lifted his hips so the duvet could be tugged down all the way. Slade flipped the sheets over Jason’s feet and then climbed into the bed beside Jason, pulling the covers up to their waists. “Makes things easier, doesn’t it? Now I can just leave this afternoon instead of having to bother you for a ride back to the bar.”  

 

Slade rolled onto his side and braced his elbow a few inches from Jason’s head, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. Jason mirrored him, and they ended up nose to nose, only a few inches apart. Face fixed into a neutral expression, Slade ran his fingers through Jason’s sweaty, sex-tousled hair, and then to the bruised and tender side of his face. 

 

“You probably have a concussion under all that bruising,” Slade said lowly, trailing his fingers back up into Jason’s hair and cupping the back of his head. “It’s really not a good idea for you to be driving.” 

 

The pleasant distraction of Slade’s touch faded into the background as Jason processed that. Slade was right; if Jason had a concussion, driving wasn’t something he should do for at least a few days. But… where did that leave him? Stuck here, in the-middle-of-nowhere-Texas? 

 

Fingers rubbed comfortingly against his scalp. “I can put you up in a hotel, if that’s what you want. Or," Slade offered, sliding his hand down to the nape of Jason’s neck, "you can stay here with me." 

 

The offer was tempting, to say the least. Jason stared intently at Slade, trying to understand if the it was sincere. Then again, from what he knew about Slade, Jason wouldn’t have been invited to stay if Slade didn’t really want him to. 

 

“I don’t want to impose,” Jason said, out of formality, already reaching out to wind his fingers back through Slade’s chest hair. 

 

With a small, lopsided smirk Slade slid forward into Jason’s personal space and kissed him on the forehead. 

 

“I would be happy to have you, gorgeous,” Slade whispered in his ear as he pulled Jason snuggly into his arms and laid them both down. Blushing at the offhanded, casual use of the nickname, Jason turned his face into Slade’s shoulder to hide his blush. 

 

As Jason relaxed into the arms holding him, naked legs tangling with Slade’s, he couldn’t help but wonder at the luck of his encounter with Slade. As if he could read Jason’s mind, Slade dropped a sweet kiss to the top of his head. Jason’s stomach did somersaults at the idea of spending  _ days _ in the same house as Slade, and what that could entail if just a few hours could-- almost literally-- blow his mind. 

 

The steady sound of Slade’s heart beating beneath his ear was nearly as comforting and soothing as having a big, warm body to press up against. 

 

Jason smiled as his eyes drooped heavily. The last sound he heard before dropping into unconsciousness was Slade’s breathing going deep and even with sleep.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see y'all! 
> 
> it's seriously been a hot minute. this *is* a short update in comparison to the others, but I've already started working on the next chapter so there will be a much shorter wait before it's posted. 
> 
> Enjoy, and please please let me know what you think <3 <3

Slade dozed on and off for a while. Jason’s warm, solid weight pressed him into the mattress and the afterglow of their shared pleasure lingered in Slade’s loose joints. Slade’s schedule hadn’t accommodated napping for some years and sleeping during the day was a little disorienting, but there was something about Jason that had some long dormant part of Slade relaxing, slowly mellowing in a way he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever experienced before. Relaxed or not, though, after a while Slade woke up fully and couldn’t fall back asleep.

 

Yawning expansively, he squinted at the clock on his bedside table; it was nearly noon. For a moment, Slade waited expectantly for the restlessness that usually kept him from idle relaxation to urge him out of bed. It never came. He felt no rush to get up, there was no work that needed to be done immediately, and there was a boy still sleeping soundly in his arms who seemed to demand Slade’s full attention. He looked down at Jason’s sleep-slack face. His cheek was squished against Slade’s chest, pink mouth still swollen from kissing and opened just enough that Slade could feel the warm puffs of breath every time Jason exhaled.

 

If Slade was a poetic man, he might have compared him to a painting. The streaks of bright midday light that filtered in through the blinds fell across Jason’s broad shoulders and the very edge of his face, highlighting the shadow cast by his long, curling eyelashes. His smooth, yet not unblemished, sun-kissed skin was flushed, staining his cheeks almost red. Slade wanted to drag his lips from the points of his cheekbone to the dip of his collarbone-- see if that skin was as soft as it looked. The image Jason made, Slade thought, belonged in a museum because he felt like a thief being the only one witnessing it.

 

Almost without thought, Slade clenched the arm he had around Jason’s waist. Jason stirred at the touch and made a sweet, sleepy noise and shifted closer, so that his face was hidden against the side of Slade’s neck. His hand-- that had been a loose fist on Slade’s stomach-- now rested, open palmed, over the middle Slade’s sternum. When Jason had finally settled again, he snuffled delicately against the thin skin of Slade’s throat; Slade held carefully still until Jason’s breathing had evened out again.

 

Slade stared, wondering if Jason could feel the thunderous pounding of his heart.

 

The kid was enough of a menace to Slade’s self control while awake but this… this was Jason unguarded. Without his easy, teasing humor and youthful arrogance, Slade thought he was probably seeing a side of Jason Todd not many people were allowed access to. Somehow, that made the sight of Jason napping-- _vulnerable_ \-- nearly as intimate as the sex.

 

He tightened his grip on Jason again, just a little, just _enough_ so that Jason would know he was being held. He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling when Jason made another soft noise, sighed heavily, and went boneless. Pulling his other hand out from behind his pillow, Slade cupped the back of Jason’s head and lightly scratched over his scalp.

 

As he cradled Jason securely against his chest, Slade thought that this-- even more than the sex-- was what he and Jason needed.

 

For Slade, feeling that the kid was in one piece, was _whole_ , soothed him in a way Jason’s assurances couldn’t, because no matter what Jason said, Slade would always be at least partly to blame for what had happened.

 

For Jason, Slade was almost sure, just being held, comforted, by another person was long overdue. From what he could gather (and Slade _knew_ that there was more to Jason’s story than a fight with his father, there had to be for the kid to have just picked his life up and left everything behind) Jason had been alone for a long, long time, one night stands notwithstanding. It was none of his business, really, but if Jason needed to feel cared for and wanted, Slade was more than up to the task.

 

Sinking back against the pillows, the possibilities of the next few days flashed through Slade’s mind. It wasn’t just the ample opportunity for fucking-- admittedly exciting on its own-- that had his blood running hotter, but all the ways that he could potentially spoil and hold and _possess_ Jason. Slade buried his smirk in the gently curling hair at Jason’s temple and breathed in the scent of sweat, sex, and the shampoo he kept stocked in the upstairs guest bathrooms.

 

He’d gotten no further than planning out what they might eat for dinner when his phone rang, obnoxiously loud and shattering the peaceful quiet of the room. Jason tensed and jerked like he’d been electrocuted, and though his forehead was screwed up in an unhappy-- and endearing-- frown, he hadn’t immediately been woken up by the shrill trilling. Keeping his arm wrapped tightly just below Jason’s shoulder blades, Slade made a series of soothing noises in the boy’s ear in the hopes of lulling him back into deep sleep.

 

After fumbling with his phone for a few seconds Slade brought it up to his ear and, in an undertone, growled, “What?”

 

Jason made a displeased noise and curled closer, the bridge of his nose rubbing back and forth against Slade’s jaw for a moment before going still again. Slade rubbed slow circles into the boy’s back, trying to rein in his unreasonable annoyance.

 

Staticy silence on the other end of the call was broken by a questioning, timid, _“Mr. Wilson?”_

 

Slade cursed silently and took a deep, calming breath. “David,” he said, making sure he sounded tempered and patient. “What can I do for you, son?”

 

An audible breath of relief gusted through the speaker before David cleared his throat and said, still sounding nervous, _“Well, ya see, Mr. Wilson…”_

 

Recognizing that phrase and tone, Slade’s hand stilled over the sleep-warm skin of Jason’s back and prepared himself for whatever bad news or fuck up he was about to have to deal with.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [Tumblr](https://thebirds-and-thebees.tumblr.com) my askbox is always open for prompts and requests!


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